


Neither Occult nor Ethereal

by WatercolourSkies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, There will be probably be more later, Visions, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatercolourSkies/pseuds/WatercolourSkies
Summary: The prophecy is different. They don’t need to choose their faces wisely – they’ve been doing that for thousands of years. Now it’s time to take off the masks and become something that neither of them recognises, but they feel that perhaps they have always been, something that they know is right.Or: They really are on their own side.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Guide Me Through the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first non-oneshot fic! I should update for the first few chapters every few days or so, but updates may become less frequent after that. This is just an idea that came to me and I decided to build on. Enjoy!

So this was it. The world still existed. The Antichrist was a normal boy and was free to live a life as normal as he wanted it to be (take or leave the past week). They’d convinced Heaven and Hell not to have their battle, at least not for now, and had given them something to chew on for hopefully another few thousand years, if not more, before the Big One. Which would come, Crowley was sure it was. But that was a problem for later. 

For now, they had more pertinent things to worry about. Because while Heaven and Hell wouldn’t be fighting each other anytime soon, that didn’t stop them from fighting Aziraphale and Crowley. Crowley was sure they weren’t going to let them get away with disrupting their plans, and as soon as they found them, they were done for if they didn’t think of a plan of their own. 

They did have one thing to help them, though: a prophecy. Aziraphale had snatched a loose bit of paper from the air with Agnes Nutter’s final foretelling on it earlier that day. He had shown it to Crowley first whilst on the bench, and what it could mean had plagued Crowley throughout their bus journey to his flat. 

It read, _“ When _ _alle_ _is fayed and all is done, there is_ _noffing_ _much ye can do, ye righteous traitors, when the elements are forced uponeth ye. Accept thy Fate, creatures, and live.”_

Obviously it was talking about him and Aziraphale. ‘Righteous traitors’ really was the best way to describe them based on their actions this week. ‘Creatures’ didn’t seem as courteous, but still... He just couldn’t work out for the life of him what Agnes wanted them to do, because she actually seemed to be saying that they do nothing. The part about the elements, while Crowley didn’t know what it meant, made it clear that something was going to happen, as did that part about their fate. The instruction to live, though, he just couldn’t be sure about. Did she mean that whatever they did, things would work out or, and this was the part that was worrying Crowley, did she expect them to work it out for themselves when it happened, or think that they should already know? What if Crowley assumed that she didn’t want them to do anything, and then he and Aziraphale died because he hadn’t thought hard enough about the prophecy? He would have gotten a headache thinking about all of this if his head didn’t already feel like it was being weighed down by a ball and chain. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside. Do you have your key?” They were outside the flat door, and Aziraphale was practically being forced to drag Crowley to the door by the waist. After the events of that day, Crowley felt entirely exhausted; so tired that he was sure he would have burst into tears from the physical pain this was causing him if he had the strength to do even that. Stopping time had taken a lot out of him, not to mention the emotional strain of today. 

He managed to fumble his key out of his pocket and handed it to Aziraphale, who gifted him a grateful smile. However terrible Crowley felt, that smile would always be enough to make him feel a little bit better, and it would always remind him how he would bend over backwards just to make sure that Aziraphale could be happy enough to see the world worthy of his smiles. 

Aziraphale opened the door and had to tighten his hold on Crowley’s waist to stop him from falling through it. 

“There, I’ve got you. Let’s get you a seat.” He led Crowley into the living room and over to the sofa, which Crowley instantly sank into like sand running through an hourglass. 

And for the first time in what felt like years, despite being only earlier that day, he was home. 

And Aziraphale was there with him. 

It really only hit him then that this was the first time that Aziraphale had seen his flat. He hadn’t moved in all that long ago by their standards, and he supposed he didn’t spend all that much time there himself. Plus, there had never posed any real reason for them to go there over the bookshop, or by the time Crowley thought to maybe suggest they go there, they were already parting ways. But now, here he was, with nowhere else to go for a seemingly undetermined amount of time. 

Aziraphale must have also realised that he hadn’t been here before, as he was looking around the room, taking in the expensive-but-not-fancy-or-posh-expensive-just-cool-expensive-that-makes-up-for-how-not-cool-the-owner-is-what-does-cool-mean-anyway atmosphere Crowley had spent years perfecting. 

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice hoarse and broken, as if he had forgotten how to make sound and was just learning it again. 

“Of?” Aziraphale asked, and then, realising, “Oh. It’s...” He was clearly searching for a polite enough adjective to describe the flat. “...very modern.” 

“Yeah, I know it’s not really your sort of style, but...” 

“I’ll get used to it,” Aziraphale finished, saying what Crowley hadn’t dared to. Did that mean that Aziraphale wanted to visit again? Crowley would be more than happy for him to, of course, he just hadn’t let himself hope that that would be the case. In fact, if Aziraphale did need somewhere to stay for, well, as long as he liked, he was very welcome to stay at the flat. Crowley could turn the study into a spare bedroom; he could stock his fridge with Aziraphale’s favourite pastries... 

_Slow down,_ he thought. Aziraphale had told him, all those years ago, that he went too fast for him, and now here he was, actually considering that they move in together. 

“So,” Aziraphale asked, snapping Crowley out of his thoughts, “a lot happened today.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Crowley replied, becoming increasingly too tired to even talk. It looked like Aziraphale picked up on this, as he frowned at himself, maybe regretting bringing today up when that was probably the last thing Crowley wanted to think about right now. If Crowley could have summoned the strength to pardon him, he would have in an instant. 

Still, Aziraphale carried on. “Do you know what happens now?” Crowley hoped that that was a rhetorical question, because he certainly didn’t have the answer. “Because it seems to me that we’ve got a lot of free time, now.” 

“No.” Crowley suddenly recovered enough energy to respond. He sat up just as Aziraphale came to sit next to him. Crowley shifted his legs to make room for him. “Have you forgotten the prophecy? The elements are going to be ‘forced uponeth us.’ We’re going to meet our fates! Something is going to happen. It doesn’t sound good, and no doubt Heaven and Hell are going to be responsible.” 

“That’s true,” Aziraphale calmly granted, “but doesn’t it also say that we’ll live, whatever is going to happen? It feels like we’re being given quite simple instructions: ‘don’t worry about it, you’re going to be fine.' ” 

“Yeah, but-” Crowley stifled a yawn, which gave him a moment to wonder why he was arguing. He wanted Aziraphale to be right, didn’t he? He didn’t want there to be anything to worry about. And yet, what if he was wrong? “What if she means she thinks that we should already know what we’re meant to do?” 

“Then she’s probably right. She is Agnes Nutter, after all.” Aziraphale’s tone remained even, gentle, infuriatingly so, this only amplified by how much sense his reasoning was actually making. 

He stood up again, and for a second, Crowley was filled with the urge to stop him, to grab his hand and pull him into an embrace, to tell him to please not leave, that he was worried about what would happen if they were alone, but then Aziraphale said, “I think we could both do with a cup of tea,” and the impulse passed. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Crowley protested weakly, tiredly. “It’s my flat, and... you shouldn’t have to do any of that.” 

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” Aziraphale gave Crowley another smile, one that he was sure he didn’t deserve after being such a cynical idiot. 

Aziraphale left the room, and while Crowley listened to the distant noise of the kettle boiling and cupboards opening and closing, he was left to further ponder why he seemed so determined to convince Aziraphale that they had something to worry about. Although, he didn’t actually think too long about that, as his train of thought swiftly led him to why he was letting Aziraphale’s serene cheerfulness in this situation get to him. It hadn’t been ten minutes ago he’d thought to himself how he would do anything for his angel to always be happy, and now he was making an effort to do the total opposite! Maybe, although he couldn’t think of a way to say it that didn’t sound selfish, right now he didn’t care if he upset Aziraphale if it meant that they were on the same page. Maybe he was being selfish. He was so tired. 

Soon, Aziraphale returned with a mug in each hand – both plain black, as all Crowley’s mugs were. No doubt as soon as Crowley was in a better state, Aziraphale would be on him about his lack of ornate crockery, but for now he just silently handed him his drink and took his seat once more. 

For a while, they sat in silence. Each time Crowley met Aziraphale’s eyes, the angel smiled at him, looking like there was perhaps something he wanted to say, but not enough to break the silence for. 

Eventually, Crowley spoke first. “How are you so cheerful all the time?” 

Aziraphale had just taken a sip of tea, and swallowed it before answering, “I’m really not.” 

“I don’t mean... I know you’re not cartoonish-ly cheerful; you’re not always a ray of sunshine, or whatever, but you always have hope. Even when the world was going to end, you never panicked, it felt like you knew it would turn out okay. Even now, while I’m worrying about the future, you’re perfectly happy being in the present, so sure that whatever happens, we’ll be alright.” 

Aziraphale took another sip, mulling this over. Finally, he replied, “Well, first off, I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You have hope, too. Remember how you said we could go off together?” 

“If the world ended, yeah, which I thought it would. Meanwhile, you were still convinced that we’d find a way to save it.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that’s exactly...” Aziraphale stopped, seeming to reconsider what he was saying. “Still, I think you do have hope, deep down, whether you see it or not. Secondly, I don’t _always_ have hope.” He paused. “Just before I got discorporated, I was trying to talk to God.” 

Crowley looked at him, surprised. “Did you...?” 

“No, no. I only got as far as the Metatron. And, I think at that moment, I did lose a little bit of hope. I began to question if She really did care at all about the world, about... well, me.” He looked utterly ashamed of himself, and Crowley couldn’t help but move closer to him. Slowly, cautiously, not daring look at him, first waiting for permission, and when it was granted, taking Aziraphale’s hand as the angel had his on the bus earlier. He didn’t quite know how he managed it; it just felt right. 

Aziraphale continued, looking somewhat more like his usual self, “But, when I do have hope, I think I just manage it by thinking... there’s always something good out there. Even if things all seem to be going wrong, even if it’s sometimes hard to love God as much as an angel should, even if the world did end...” 

Crowley scoffed. “What good thing would there be if the world ended?” 

“You.” 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale once more, barely believing what he’d just heard. “Me?” 

“Yes, you.” Aziraphale said it like it was obvious. “Of course you. You don’t think that I turned down your offer of leaving together because I didn’t want your company? Crowley, you are the most wonderful being I know. You’re funny, wise, determined. The things you say never fail to shock, intrigue and enthral me, and although I know you hate to hear it, you truly are a good person. Certainly better than any other demon, as far as I know, and better than quite a few angels.” 

“Aziraphale...” 

“You’re my best friend, Crowley. So, yes, when it feels like there’s nothing good left, I can always cling on to hope, even now, because I still have you. And... and...” His eyes dropped, his cheeks turning rosy. “Sorry, I’ve said enough.” 

“And?” Crowley prompted. He was so exhausted, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had fallen asleep and this was all a dream, but it was definitely the best dream he’d ever had, and he wasn’t ready for it to end yet. 

Aziraphale said nothing for a moment. “Is it really not obvious? Do I really have to say it?” 

Crowley’s mouth was so dry, his tongue like sandpaper. “If you don’t say it, I might have to,” he said, barely above a whisper, “and I doubt that’ll be pretty.” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I love you, Crowley. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I hope that now I can finally tell you without having to worry about what Heaven would say if they knew, and hope that you might be able to love me too. Actually, I probably should have said it before; I know I shouldn’t have cared about that...” He was rambling, and Crowley could see that Aziraphale knew it. Crowley certainly knew that feeling. 

“And I love you,” Crowley said, and it still seemed to surprise Aziraphale, even after everything. “I think I have from the beginning, really, so no need to feel bad about waiting for so long to say it, because you’re looking at the master of that.” Well, he had warned him it wouldn’t be pretty. 

Aziraphale laughed slightly, beautifully – although everything about him was beautiful, so that went without saying – and then his gaze was locked solely on Crowley’s face. He leant over so his hip was touching Crowley's, and then reached up, his fingers almost closing on his glasses. Their hands had come apart by this point, but Crowley couldn’t say that it really bothered him, because Aziraphale loved him, really loved him, and he loved Aziraphale, and they had been able to say it, so even if everything went wrong, they would always have this. 

“May I?” his angel asked. 

Crowley had to swallow and wet his lips before answering, and he was sure Aziraphale’s gaze flicked to his lips for a second. “Yeah,” he murmured, and Aziraphale took off his sunglasses, folding them neatly and placed them on the table to the side of the sofa. When he looked back to Crowley, he looked at him in such a way, his beautiful blue eyes glittering as they seemed to see right through him, it made Crowley feel as if maybe, if only to Aziraphale, he could be beautiful too. Maybe he already was. 

Slowly, carefully, Aziraphale leant in, and Crowley watched his eyes close before doing the same. Their lips brushed and they were kissing, they were really kissing, and they loved each other, and it was everything Crowley had ever wanted. 

Aziraphale let out a contended little sigh as he moved his hands to Crowley’s face as he deepened the kiss, and he did this so gently, and his lips were so soft, and Crowley could have just melted into the sofa. 

A few more blissful moments passed before they came apart, their cheeks flushed, both breathing somewhat heavily. They smiled at each other in silence for a second, before beginning to quietly laugh. At what, Crowley wasn’t quite sure. How long it had taken them to finally confess their feelings? The fact that the conversation they’d been having seemed to have strayed far from its original point? Was the sheer happiness they – or, at least, Crowley – felt in that moment enough to induce laughter? Or was the simple fact of not knowing why they were laughing enough of a reason to do so, in a paradoxical way? Crowley found that he didn’t care about knowing the answer. 

Now Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands and squeezed them, and Crowley wondered if he was preparing to say something. Crowley watched his face, and he was already beginning to forget how he had been able to keep himself from revealing how he felt before now to a being so beautiful (he knew he’d already used this word to describe Aziraphale in his head many times, but it really was the best words he had found), inside and out. To every rainy day, Aziraphale was the rainbow. To every cloud, he was the silver lining. To every dark, starless night, he was the glow of sunrise. In fact, he actually appeared to be glowing just now. No, that couldn’t be right. But his face undoubtedly had a bright, golden complex to it. 

Aziraphale suddenly stopped looking like he had something to say, and instead just looked confused. He glanced down and Crowley followed suit to find the real source of the glowing: between their joined hands, there was a ball of pure light, shining in every direction. 

“Wha-” was all Crowley could get out before suddenly his unshielded eyes were hit by a blinding beam of light, and his vision went completely blank. An unrelenting high-pitched, almost deafening tone filled his ears, blocking out all other sound, his own thoughts. He screwed his eyes shut, knowing that that wouldn’t stop the noise. 

But then it did stop. 

And when Crowley opened his eyes, he could see that he was somewhere else entirely. 


	2. Finding the Surface

_Where Crowley was, he had no idea, nor did he have time to wonder. All he knew was that, in an unmeasurable amount of time, he clearly saw three things, one after the other in a quick succession, and yet he felt he had absorbed every detail._

_First, he was standing next to a rushing waterfall, although he could not feel his own presence. It was like he was the air that surrounded the waterfall, he was every molecule of water itself. He was the waterfall. The water was bright and blue and vibrant, the embodiment of life; an unstoppable yet lenient force; one of the world’s true wonders._

_Next came a highly decorated golden font within a large church, filled to the brim with water. Crowley’s feet didn’t burn. Crowley didn’t need to have feet, here. He was barely sure if right now he existed at all._

_Finally, he saw a traditional claw-footed bath, both taps running, one steaming, the other beginning to freeze over. Two opposing forces, cancelling each other out._

_Then, without warning, he was underwater. His physical presence appeared to come back into being, as unwelcome as it was, and now the dark, murky liquid – Pond water, was his first thought, although he didn’t know why – surrounded him, muffling his voice as he tried to yell out and rushing into his mouth. He desperately thrashed, trying to reach the surface, but someone was holding his head down. He had already gulped down mouthfuls of the water before he could close his mouth, and it was burning him, and he couldn’t escape, and he was drowning, he was going to die._

_And then he could breathe._

_A sense of pure calm washed over him. He took a deep breath, as if trying to inhale more of the feeling as much as he was the air, and suddenly he knew that everything would be okay. For every time he thought he would drown, there would be a fresh, clean waterfall; there would be a pond topped by ducks, paddling around without a care; there would be this. However bad things got, however little hope there seemed, he was safe._ They _were safe._

He was back on his sofa, in his living room, and there was his angel.

Aziraphale had had a vision too, Crowley could instantly tell. His expression was one of surprise, and yet he seemed to be just as at peace as Crowley. His mouth shifted from wide eyes and a slightly open mouth into a serene smile as he noticed Crowley looking at him. 

Nothing like this had ever happened before, and he felt sure that Aziraphale would have told him if he had ever experienced it. He had called it a vision, just then, but he had no way of knowing if that was the correct term. 

“Crowley,” he began slowly, softly. “Did you see that too?” 

“I think so. I mean, I saw something.” Now he had his own question. “Has that... ever happened to you?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. No, it hasn’t. But I suppose it was... a vision?” 

“That’s what I’m guessing.” Crowley really wanted to ask how it had happened, but he knew that if Aziraphale was as unsure about what it was as he was, he doubted that he would have any knowledge on the subject. Instead, he fell silent, trying to hold on to as many details of the vision as he could, not able to bear the idea of forgetting. Whatever it was and why ever it had happened, Crowley could tell that it was important. 

As if reading his mind, Aziraphale asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, what did you see?” 

Gratefully, Crowley told him everything. He didn’t dwell on the part where he had almost drowned for too long, equally because he didn’t want to worry Aziraphale and because he felt sure that that mattered far less than how certain he was that the vision was telling him not to worry, that he’d be okay. Just like Aziraphale had said. 

When he was done, he said, “How about you? What did you see?” 

For a moment, Aziraphale was silent, looking lost in thought. However, his thoughts did not at all appear to be consuming him. He looked totally in control of whatever was going through his mind, his face composed, his eyes lightly closed. 

“Fire,” he said finally. “I saw fire. Hellfire, I think. Bright, burning flames. They surged forward towards me, and I tried to run but was only met by a dead end. I was forced to turn around, but when I faced the fire, I suddenly knew that it wasn’t going to kill me. I let it engulf me... and it was fine.” He said nothing for a little while, and Crowley was sure that he could see the flames too, right in front of him, and he felt sure that he could survive them, control them, too – although in some ways it felt more like, as he was seeing Aziraphale’s vision, he was only experiencing Aziraphale’s own certainty second-hand. Aziraphale continued, “And then it was like your vision, I think. I felt completely calm, and I knew that as long as I believed that the fire wouldn’t hurt me, it would never be able to. I knew that we’d both be okay.” That reminded Crowley of something. He thought back to how long he had kept the Bentley from going up in flames simply because he imagined that it wouldn’t, but the thought quickly passed. 

Aziraphale then looked down at their hands – the light ball had disappeared without a trace by the time their visions had ended – and properly intertwined their fingers. Crowley shivered slightly at the touch, from happiness, he was sure. He had used to dream of holding hands with Aziraphale once, and now they had done so multiple times that day. 

“Do you think our visions were literal, or...” Aziraphale began. “What I mean is, might they predict what Heaven and Hell are going to do to us, if they catch us?” 

_Of course,_ Crowley thought. The idea made so much sense to him that it must have already been in the back of his mind, not hiding, simply waiting to be noticed when the topic was brought up. Aziraphale had said that his vision had been about Hellfire, and the water in the font in Crowley’s had of course been holy water. It would be the perfect revenge, Crowley supposed, after he himself had murdered a demon in the exact same way. Crowley didn’t know how Hell would get their hands on holy water (metaphorically and literally, considering what happened to demons when holy water touched them), but if his vision was saying what he thought it was, that seemed to be their plan, at least. 

Now he understood what Agnes had meant by the bit in the prophecy about the elements. 

“Hellfire and holy water,” he said grimly. “That would do it.” 

“Except, we seem to be being told that it won’t do it?” said Aziraphale. “Kill us, that is.” 

“I guess not.” 

After a pause, Aziraphale asked, “But how?” Now he appeared to be the one worrying. Crowley felt partly responsible for that. “We are an angel and a demon, still, and these seem to be fool proof ways of causing our demises.” 

Crowley shrugged, surprising even himself. He knew that his view had taken a complete one-eighty from what it was just minutes ago, and yet he really felt like he could trust what he’d been told, first by the prophecy, and now by the visions they’d both had. “I don’t know. Maybe they won’t catch us? Maybe we’ll escape before they can try and kill us, or we’ll convince them to try another way that won’t work? Whatever it is, it looks like it’s not worth thinking about, because we’ll be fine.” He looked at Aziraphale fondly. “Just like you said.” 

“I hope so.” Aziraphale smiled back, but after a moment his expression became more sombre. Nervous, even. He glanced down at their still joint hands. “But there is... Do you... There’s...” He cleared his throat, and then tried again. “Right. Do you want to go to bed now?” His eyes widened as he realised the connotations of what he’d said actually before Crowley did. “I mean, um, to sleep. You did seem quite tired earlier...” 

Hang on, what? Everything had seemed to be going so perfectly, and now that they’d sorted this whole conversation to do with their fates out, Crowley was hoping that they could return to how they now knew they loved each other. After all, Aziraphale had showered him with praise before, and he was yet to get a chance to return the favour. Now, though, he appeared so anxious around Crowley that he couldn’t even look at him. 

“Angel, is everything okay?” he asked tentatively. 

“Hmm?” He seemed to barely register the question at first. “Oh. Yes. I was just worrying...” That Crowley wouldn’t like what he was about to say? That he had made a mistake and didn’t actually love him, or at least not in the way that Crowley did? “What we did before we had our visions... When we kissed... And what you said... Do you still think that? I’m just checking, and it’s okay if you don’t. I mean, not okay, I’d be sad, because I definitely still think it, but... What I mean to say...” 

That was what he was worried about? That Crowley didn’t love _him_? That was probably the most ridiculous thing Crowley had ever heard. Although, he supposed that he had just been having the same thoughts about Aziraphale, which judging from the angel’s panicked yet hopeful state couldn’t have been more wrong. Maybe they were both being a bit of an idiot. 

“Aziraphale, of course I still love you. Always have, always will. That is something you will never need to doubt, I promise you.” 

“Oh. Oh, good. I just... I was just over-thinking... because you truly are wonderful, Crowley.” 

“Nowhere near as wonderful as you,” Crowley replied. It was in no way as good as what Aziraphale had said about him earlier, but it would have to do for now. Before Aziraphale could protest, Crowley added, “Now, as for going to sleep... I think I will.” Actually, now that Aziraphale mentioned it, he was still pretty tired, albeit not as exhausted as before. “Just, in a bit.” Then, with a slightly mischievous smile, he found it in him to say, “For now, I think I’d prefer to spend a few more minutes with the love of my life.” 

Aziraphale’s smile widened into a grin. “Oh, well. In that case...” He leant in for the next kiss, which was eagerly given. 

Outside, the moon shone high in the sky, and far, far away, not in this plane of existence, plans were made to make a particular angel and demon regret the day they decided they’d rather team up with their adversary than stay loyal to their sides. And in a love-filled flat, that particular angel and demon were more than aware that plans were being made, and had a good idea of what they were, but didn’t really mind. Because they had something far more powerful than plots of revenge, than the combined forces of Heaven and Hell, perhaps something as powerful as God Herself: they had each other, and they had hope, and they had love. 

And as long as they had those things, everything would turn out okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the second chapter! Chapter 3 should hopefully be up this week, and I'm hoping to finish it before the weekend.  
> Thank you to those who left kudos commented on Chapter 1 - your support is really encouraging! - and thank you in general to everyone for reading. Have a wonderful day or night. :)


End file.
